


Start Some Action

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Juris Imprudence [36]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Legal AU, M/M, lawyer AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8807383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Atlantis, Evan Lorne, his heightened sense of taste is part of what makes him an excellent baker."After Bucky's departure, Evan starts to stress-bake. A complicated case couldn't arrive soon enough.





	

Rodney wasn’t sure how all the attorneys knew, but somehow everyone knew, and by the time he and John rolled into the office Monday morning, everyone was very carefully not saying anything. Bucky was gone, back to New York where he’d come from, and he’d taken Lorne’s heart with him. Nathan stepped up to assume the role as Daniel’s paralegal with barely a hitch - although it was apparent to just about anyone with eyes that Daniel didn’t like him but was too nice to say anything about it - and Lorne was...  
  
Lorne. Working as efficiently as ever.  
  
No, working more efficiently than ever.  
  
And apparently stress-baking at home, because every morning for that first week Bucky was gone, Lorne showed up at the office with trays of gourmet pastries.  
  
No one was sure what to say to Lorne. He’d had time off recently, so giving him another vacation was a transparent act of sympathy, and if the way he was working was any indication, sending him home with nothing to do might break him. John tried to act like everything was normal, everyone tried to act like everything was normal, but everyone was trying too hard, even Lorne.  
  
On Thursday morning, while John was practically eating his weight in _pains aux chocolat_ , he asked Lorne, “How did you get so good at baking? I mean - is it science? Is it instinct? Is it - is it like art?”  
  
“My sense of taste, actually, sir.” Lorne was enabling John by handing him napkins so he could dust crumbs of flaky puff pastry off his tie.  
  
“As in -?”  
  
“I have a heightened sense of taste. It runs in the family. I can taste things more intensely than other people. So I know to add ingredients that most people cannot identify but that don’t go unnoticed. What I make tastes - unique. I give it all my own twist.” Lorne shrugged.  
  
Rodney was intrigued by this, as a scientist. “So you can taste the individual ingredients in food?”  
  
“For many food critics it’s a learned skill, the way a musician learns to hear harmonies in a song,” Lorne said. “But yes, I can.”  
  
Rodney slid closer, and Lorne obligingly handed him a little plate, napkin, and pastry.   
  
“So,” Rodney said, “if you went to a restaurant and ate a certain dish you liked, you could reverse-engineer it?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
John descended from his pastry-induced euphoria long enough to say, “Hey. No.”  
  
“No what?” Rodney widened his eyes, doing his best to look innocent.  
  
Lorne got that expression on his face, the one where he was acting politely oblivious to personal lives being paraded in the office while he made bets and calculated odds and squirreled away information to win bets down the line.  
  
“No, we can _not_ take Lorne to dinner at that Italian place you like so you can get that tiramisu recipe you want. You don’t know how to make tiramisu anyway,” John said.  
  
Lorne raised his eyebrows. “Which Italian restaurant?”  
  
“Giovanni’s,” Rodney said.  
  
“Oh, I already know how to make that.”  
  
Rodney turned his wide-eyed expression on Lorne. “Say, would you -?”  
  
“Get your own paralegal.” John poked Rodney in the shoulder. He flashed Lorne a smile. “Thanks, Lorne. Your pastry continues to be amazing. Thanks for sharing.” And he steered Rodney back to his office.  
  
Rodney resigned himself to working for several hours and was about ready to beat his head against his own desk in frustration when he remembered. Lorne had made dozens and dozens of pastries. He took the leftovers to a homeless shelter every evening after work. A little bit of sugar would be perfect.  
  
Rodney stood up, stretched, and headed into the staff kitchen.  
  
He got there just in time to see a little girl in a fluffy red velvet dress take the very last _pain au chocolat_. She must have been one of Daniel’s tragic orphans or something. She turned wide, dark eyes up at Rodney.

“Hey now,” Rodney said, “you’re not supposed to be back here, and you’re definitely not supposed to be eating those.” He’d heard horror stories about how almost every one of Daniel’s kids had ADHD and processed sugar made them extra crazy.  
  
The girl raised one eyebrow imperiously and bit into the pastry.  
  
“Stop that,” Rodney said.  
  
The girl took another bite, chewing defiantly.  
  
“No. Put that down. I’ll tell your -”  
  
The girl gobbled down the last of the pastry, dusted the crumbs off her lips with a napkin, and shoved the balled-up napkin into Rodney’s hand.  
  
Rodney gaped at her. The sheer gall of this child!  
  
And then John said, “You ate the last pastry?” He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, looking annoyed.  
  
“Not me. Her.” Rodney pointed at the little girl.  
  
She immediately adopted a wide-eyed, wounded expression. “He’s lying!”  
  
“I came in here and watched her gobble it down like a little -”  
  
“You have the napkin and the crumbs, Rodney,” John said with exaggerated patience.  
  
“Because she gave it to me.”  
  
John rolled his eyes and knelt down so he was eye-level with the girl. “It’s okay, Harmony. Rodney gets a little cranky when he’s hungry. I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”  
  
The girl started to cry, and Rodney felt bad that she was crying, but she was a little monster. Then she held her arms out, and John balked for a moment. But he actually pulled the girl into a hug, patting her back tentatively, and the girl ceased crying and smirked at Rodney over John’s shoulder.  
  
He made a wordless sound of outrage, but when John pulled back, the girl looked sad and wounded all over again.   
  
“Thank you, Mr. Sheppard,” the girl said, and actually wiped her eyes.   
  
“I know things have been difficult,” John said. “But I’m here to help.”  
  
Rodney frowned. “Since when do you represent children?”  
  
“Harmony Larris and her family are long-standing clients of Woolsey O’Neill and Weir,” John said. “I’ve always done the taxes on the estate. With everything that’s going on with the passing of Harmony’s mother, Daniel is stepping in to represent Harmony in the custody discussions between Harmony’s sisters.”  
  
Harmony affected a mournful expression. “I don’t want to live with Mardola. I want to live with Flora.”  
  
John nodded. “Be sure to tell Daniel that. Did you get your drink of water?”  
  
Harmony shook her head, so John fetched her a glass of water, and then he ushered her out of the kitchen. He cast Rodney a sharp look. Rodney rolled his eyes and threw away the incriminating napkin, and he followed.  
  
Harmony went to sit in John’s office while John conferred with Daniel and Elizabeth.  
  
“As between Mardola and Flora,” Daniel said, “both of them are technically fit guardians. Harmony is only thirteen, and the age to decide placement is fourteen, but given how close she is, the judge will give a lot of weight to her preference.”  
  
“She told me she wants to live with Flora and not Mardola,” John offered.  
  
“I’ll tell the judge that, then.” Daniel shrugged.  
  
“Here’s the thing.” John stepped in, lowered his voice. “Mardola’s better at the business, better at managing the books. Flora doesn’t do a thing. I have to protect the estate, not just Harmony, and if we want to protect both Harmony and her estate, Mardola would be my vote.”  
  
“What business?” Rodney asked.  
  
Nathan arrived, flipping through a folder. “Didn’t you know? Harmony Larris is a prodigy opera singer. Soprano. Great range. Power. Sounds like an adult if you close your eyes. She won one of those televised talent shows three years ago.” He opened it to a specific page and held it out to Daniel, who eyed him for a moment before taking it. “She does tours and concerts and appearances. Makes a lot of money. Her mother was managing her career.”  
  
“Mardola can handle the business, Flora can be the guardian,” Daniel said.  
  
Lorne cleared his throat. “Sirs?” He handed Rodney a little plate with a pastry on it.  
  
Rodney stared at it. “I thought they were all gone.”  
  
“Not all,” Lorne said simply. He handed a file to John. “You might want to rethink Mardola’s position anywhere near the business.”  
  
John scanned the page Lorne had the file open to, and he swore under his breath.

Elizabeth, Daniel, and Nathan all raised their eyebrows.  
  
John glanced up, saw them all staring at him. “What, _all_ of you speak Pashto?”  
  
Lorne eyed Nathan in surprise. Nathan smoothed his expression out, attempted to look ignorant, but it was too late.  
  
“Mardola’s skimming money off the books,” John said. “Profit margins are all wrong. I’d need to do some additional digging to figure out the money trail, but -”  
  
“Flora it is.” Daniel nodded. “She can be the guardian, and they should hire a professional to run the business.”  
  
Lorne said, “Excuse me,” and he ducked away. Nathan tracked his progress across the office, though by all appearances he was standing attentively at Daniel’s elbow, awaiting orders. Rodney reminded himself to talk to Zelenka about getting in on the pool for when Daniel would finally lose his temper with Nathan.  
  
Lorne went to the kitchen, and he emerged several moments later with another pastry. He went into John’s office and knelt beside Harmony’s chair, presented it to her.  
  
She looked charmed and delighted.  
  
Rodney reminded himself to talk to Zelenka about getting in on the action for when Lorne realized John and Daniel’s new client had a crush on him.  
  
“These are delicious,” Harmony said to Lorne. “Are you magic?”  
  
“No, Miss. I can just taste things really well. You sing well, I taste well.”  
  
“Will you come cook for me?”  
  
“I can’t - I have to stay here and help Mr. Sheppard with your case.”  
  
“Do you cook for the mean one?”  
  
“The who? Oh, Dr. McKay? He’s not mean. He’s just - stressed out sometimes. He’s a very good lawyer, and a good person, I promise.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really.”  
  
“Pinky swear?”  
  
“Pinky swear.”  
  
“What’s your name?”  
  
“You can call me Lorne, Miss Larris.”  
  
“Lorne. That’s a pretty name. What does it mean?”  
  
“It means ‘forsaken’.”  
  
“That’s kind of sad. Are you sad?”  
  
“Not anymore.” Lorne smiled and rose up. “Is there anything else I can get you?”  
  
“No, but thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome. Let me or Nathan know if there’s anything else you need.” Lorne waved and returned to John’s side, ready to accept the file John was finished with. “I’ll run those numbers more closely, sir.”  
  
John thanked him, and Rodney drifted over to Zelenka’s desk. He glanced back at Nathan, who was still watching Lorne, and then he smiled at Zelenka.  
  
“Radek, let’s talk.” This case was going to be a dramatic one, and it would keep Lorne busy. A busy Lorne was a happy Lorne, and a happy Lorne meant a happy John, and when John was happy, Rodney was definitely happy. Making sure Lorne was happy was just enlightened self-interest.   
  
“Talk about what, Rodney?”  
  
“About how John and Daniel’s new client has a crush on Lorne.”  
  
Zelenka craned his neck to peer past Rodney into John’s office. “Lorne already knows.”  
  
“Ah, but how soon will John and Daniel notice?”  
  
Zelenka cleared his throat pointedly, lifted his chin, and the other paralegals - not including Nathan or Lorne, of course - gathered around. Time to start some action.


End file.
